Chapter Text
It had ascended the Pantheon of Hallownest. It had taken its true form and destroyed the light of dreaming within. It has become the God of Gods that the Godseekers so longed for. Then it had done it again, and again, and again. It would challenge the pantheons within Godhome without stopping, without tiring. It would limit its power more and more with intricate bindings as it refined its dominance. All the while the Godseekers sang with it, adored its every action. It was a wrote thing. It was focused on this task. Its indomitable bottomless will was pointed toward this.
As it prepared to ascend once more, to further perfect its form and skill within the small form it clung to the Godseeker spoke.
"O' God of Gods, oh mighty lord, once more thine ascension comes. Once more thou allow us to bask within your glory! Thine generosity remains boundless! Oh woe is we for not knowing! For not fathoming! Oh should we had only known when thou gave unto us that delicate bloom! We would have let thine touch grace our once immaculate form! To think such possibility lost!"
The God of Gods stops at those words. The delicate flower. The memory of pale light of it brought a new thought to the void entity. That light had stopped it from consuming the Godseekers entirely, had made it pause.
That flower had been a goal once. Something its will and focus guided it to bring to the Godseeker. It had failed many times, only to pick another and try again. Like so many things. A seemingly apathetic repetition to perfection. The Godseeker had taken it, and offered barely thanks in return. It had not cared about the lack of appreciation. The task was done, the flower was delivered. Yet it had felt something. At the start of the task, and at its conclusion. What had it been? That feeling had given the shade lord pause from its climbing of the pantheons before it ascended, it had given it pause from consuming all Hallownest after it ascended, and now it once more brings pause to its perfecting of its combat against the pantheons.
Want.
That was it. It had wanted to bring the flower. There was no benefit to the task, none at all. It had focused upon it for no other reason than the vague whispered desire to see it done. It had wanted the Godseeker to have the flower that seemed to please others. Then the light of that same bloom had reminded it that it wanted the Godseeker to live. It has so rarely felt that. So rarely felt want for anything that was not a step toward the goal it was pulled to. Yet that goal was done now. Now there was only the the want. It wanted the Godseeker.
Within Godhome the blank shell of the God of Gods' diminutive form turns to look up at the dream form of the Godseeker. Fully acknowledging her and taking her in for the first time in....
How long has it been doing this?
Irrelevant. It wanted her to live, wanted them to live, that was the task at hand now. The focus. It poses a new, more important question. Does she live? The body was destroyed. Consumed. The Hivemind saved through the Shade Lord's power alone. In a sense then yes, she lives, at least in this shared dream.
"O' God of Gods! Lord of Lords! O' Mighty One! We have interrupted thine blessed path! Countless apologies!" The Godseeker bows. "Rend us apart! Destroy us for our transgression! Such deserved punishment we welcome!"
The God reaches up, and touches her mask. The Godseeker freezes in place. The shade lord strokes the mask dumbly.
"Blessed God of Darkness, thine touch is gentle. This we are undeserving of! To sully thine hands upon our worthless mortal shell!"
As the Godseeker laments and praises this moment simultaneously the Lord of shades reaches out. Its mind extends beyond the familiar sea of Godhome. Hallownest. The sea of its existence within the abyss. The remants of the Black Egg. The corpse of a single Kingsmould still oozing void. Drops among the refuse of the junk pit.
There, that is what it wants. That place. It had erupted from the Godseeker's form before the pale blooms light had drawn it back. It felt around with that modicum of void, getting a sense for the state of things. Shattered broken carapace, a desecated corpse with a metal mask still upon its features. Not optimal. The mind lives, but the body is dead. Can it fix that? Perhaps. The minds are right here. Godhome itself is the sea of her existence and that is safe, secure with the Higher Beings eternal embrace.
This will take thought. Effort. Focus.
Its hand is removed from the Godseeker's mask, and she rises up. "Thine brilliant touch will remain part of our existence until thou deem it time for our end. We thank thee, o gracious Lord of Lords for this most wonderful of experiences. For this glorious note added to the brilliant song of our existence!"
The Lord of shades nods once. A soft feeling stirs deep within its godmind at the words, it feels nice. Then the god turns to walk out of this hall. A lesser pantheon will be needed now, something that will take less of its focus while it ponders the recreation of the Godseeker's physical form.
During the sixth time striking down Gorb it becomes apparent a true resurrection may be beyond the Lord of Shades with the current arrangement of things. Its understanding of mortal physiology is lacking and its reach in Hallownest is limited. Its father perhaps could easily see this done were he still in existence. Its mother perhaps? There is no method to ask though. She avoids attunement, and visiting her in Hallownest is not an option. Its physical form is long destroyed. Another thing to be rectified. Another thing that cannot be so easily rectified. Yet perhaps if it could reform itself it would not need its mother for this task.
Turning the lighthouse back on was prudent at the time, turning it back off would have been a good idea afterward. Its small siblings fail to be able to get within the lighthouse to do it, and even if they could they would likely lack the physical ability to pull the lever.
The Kingsmould has been a dead end as well. Too imprinted with its father's will even in death to move the void at its core. There is void in the junk pit it can manipulate but that has proven too thin and vaporous after its retreat into Godhome to make true use of beyond uselessly trying poking at the Godseeker's corpse. Perhaps if it could pull her together it could mend her body with its Focus. Yet it lacks the strength in Hallownest even to reform its own discarded shell, let alone the Godseeker's large form.
To desire, to want, these things have caused the God of Gods much... Frustration.
It only takes until the tenth time bowing to the nailmaster brothers to realize an alternative idea. There is another, one of Void that it can contact. More importantly, one that its will can guide. The God's worldly gaze turns upward, searching for the Vessel that can bring its freedom and hopefully its supplicants rebirth.